


Tell Me I'm Wrong

by passcrow



Category: The Hateful Eight
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-28
Updated: 2016-02-03
Packaged: 2018-05-09 23:41:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5560357
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passcrow/pseuds/passcrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I must admit to a fair amount of titillation derived from Major Warren's story.”  Mobray leaned in until their breath mingled, the steam of it visible between them.  “I had just decided to excuse myself to take matters into my own hand, as it were, when I saw you slip out.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Tell Me I'm Wrong

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jenni3penny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jenni3penny/gifts).



“You really think that black bastard made that boy suck his cock while he froze to death?” Chris leaned his shoulder into the wide planking that made up the wall of the barn and eyed the way the little Englishman paced his way across the frozen floor. He'd already realized the other man was quicker than his swaggered walk made him seem, quieter too. Mobray laughed and swiped his hat off his head, knocking free the thick coating of snow that was starting to melt against battered black fabric and tossing it to rest on one of the stacks of hay. The almost reddened strands of his hair fell down along the sides of his face before he wiped it back, leather covered fingers tucking the strands to hook behind his ears.

“I'd imagine Mr, excuse me, Major Warren, does as he chooses. He's a rather large man if you hadn't noticed.” His voice echoed strangely in the open space, the flat cold of the air ringing his words louder. “Is that why you left the relative comfort of our charming snowbound prison? To relive the thrillingly homoerotic fireside tale?” 

“Huh?” Mobray laughed again, the flattened look of confusion on the other man's face tipping him into giddy giggles. 

“Did you come to the barn to fill your palm?” Mobray glanced towards the back of the room where the horses stood close together. “Or possibly to see if one of the mares was obliging?” 

“You think I'm gonna fuck a horse?” Chris eyed the way Mobray shifted, eyes caught on the way the other man had swept his jacket back and plugged both gloved hands into his pockets. “Seriously?”

“Any port in a storm, I say.” The Englishman shifted forward on a hip shot step, eyebrows lifted as he smirked through wind and cold chapped lips. “It would undoubtedly be warmer than a rough toss on a cold palm as our black friend undoubtedly discovered when fucking the mouth of a freezing man.”

“Black bastard ain't no friend of mine.” Chris hawked phlegm and spit to the side at the idea.

“Charming.” Mobray sidestepped the glistening pile and turned so that his shoulder was leaned against the same wall as the other man. He purposely settled himself into Chris's space, their jackets brushing. “Always a treat to see that oft vaunted Southern gentility put on display.”

“You shittin' on the South?” Mannix squinted his eyes, all his weight shifting to one foot to put more space between them. It was a wasted move, Mobray just followed him, actually leaning them closer together.

“I would do no such thing, dear boy!” Black leather barely clipped Chris's jaw, a warmed and flashing touch that he never saw coming until the Englishman was wiping a steady finger from his chin to his temple. “Perish the thought.” His fingers threaded at the dark hair that stuck out below the brim of the younger man's hat. “I find the South to be full of beautifully amorous young men.” Mobray licked at his lips, teeth biting into moistened flesh and sucking before he continued. “I believe it has something to do with the humidity.”

“The fuck are you doing?” But Mobray was watching the other man's eyes, watching his pupils dilate, the darkness shrinking brown and muddled green blue to a thin ring. He was gauging the quickened rasp of Mannix's breath and the way he was turning his jaw into the leather covered touch instead of away.

“I must admit to a fair amount of titillation derived from Major Warren's story.” Mobray leaned in until their breath mingled, the steam of it visible between them. “I had just decided to excuse myself to take matters into my own hand, as it were, when I saw you slip out.”

“I-I was checkin' on the horses.” Chris managed to mumble. “Needed to get away from that ni--” Mobray slipped two fingers into the other man's mouth, warmed leather sliding easily between full lips.

“I am convinced that you can do better things with that beautiful mouth than spew racial epithets.” The words whispered between them, Mobray's eyes a muddled amber shot with blue and green as he skimmed his lips against the dark stubble that lined Chris's jaw. “Tell me I'm wrong.” The younger man just groaned when Mobray's other hand slid down the thigh of his trousers and rubbed into the hardening bulge he found there. “Tell me I'm wrong Sheriff Mannix, and we'll leave this here. No harm, no foul.” Another, louder groan rang between them when he bit just under the taller man's jaw, his teeth rasping rough on warm skin. “Tell me I'm right,” Voice trailing deeper, huskier, Mobray sucked a line directly down to Chris's collar, his nose hauling a sweat sweetened breath. His free hand wrapped securely at the bigger man's neck, fingers just shy of actual choking. “And I'll fuck you so thoroughly that you'll still be screaming my name in your dreams a year from now.” He matched the rough words with a rough turn of his wrist, digging into the taller man's erection. “I promise.” There was an unfamiliar twist to the accent, dropped affectation and pitch. “What say you, Sheriff?” Mobray halted all motion, his small body tensed and tightened with rigid control as he cocked his head and watched the other man try to swallow.

Mannix struggled to just breathe and even though the blizzard was whipping cold and furious in the dark that surrounded the barn, he was burning up. Sweat beaded on his forehead and dampened the brim of his hat. Mobray was a small furnace pressed against him, the Englishman radiating heat easily through their combined layers of clothing. And his hands. Fuck. All pressure and stillness and no release. He swallowed again and Mobray decreased the grip at his neck, thumb caressing the rise of his Adam's apple. The smaller man's eyes had darkened, or the light around them had darkened, the flame from the lantern tapering thin as wind howled from outside through the wide gapped walls. The dimmed light led more shadows between them and around them, pinpointed Mannix's focus to near swollen lips and green blue shot whiskied eyes.

“Yeah.” Mostly breath, but breathed loudly enough between them. Chris watched the single word subtly shift the entire set of the other man's face. 

“Pardon?” Mobray managed to press them even closer together without really moving, his shorter body caging Chris into the wall. “Care to repeat that, Sheriff?”

“You heard what I said.” Mannix clenched his jaw and jutted his hips against the way Mobray was still pressing into his trousers, rutting into the other man's hand. “I said, yeah.”

“Splendid!” Instantly the little man was all movement, his hands stripping and pulling at Mannix's clothing. “I must admit, you have me in quite a state.” Mobray lifted up to the toes of his boots to draw them more evenly matched in height. “Even your refusal would not have guaranteed a cessation of activities.” There was something predatory in his grin, the flash of his teeth in the lantern light making Mannix feel like prey. And, like prey, he winced when those teeth closed on one of the cords that ran his neck. Mobray sucked and bit the skin tender while he worked buttons free down the other man's chest.

“Jesus!” Chris just let his head roll back, baring more space and arching his shoulders free of the wall so that his coat could slide to the ground.

“Indeed.” Mobray murmured, his own eyes lust addled, pupils blown wide. “So many layers.” But he worked Chris's clothing off confidently, his tongue laving over each new exposed inch of flesh, teeth nipping and gritting as he went. He stripped through the double layer of overcoat and jacket, shoving the fabric back so that he could reach vest, scarf, shirt and then skin, finally, skin. “Arms up.” It was an order, there was no denying that, not that Chris wanted to. He shifted in compliance, shivering once, twice, three times as Mobray stripped him to the waist with leather covered fingers. “Gorgeous Christopher.” 

Any chill from the wall at his back vanished when the smaller man slipped his belt free and worked open his fly. Less layers. He was rubbing leather on skin in seconds, his fingers curling friction against Chris's freed cock. “Simply gorgeous.” 

“Harder.” 

“You don't give the orders, love.” Mobray laughed and lifted his hands, teeth tagging at one glove. “That's never part of the deal.” He peeled the leather off slow, rocking back on his heels so he could take in the full stretch of the other man's pale body. “Never been much good at following directions, I'm afraid.” He let the glove fall before pulling off the other. “A regrettable character defect that I see no reason to modify at this advanced date.” Eyes thinned, he licked at his lips again. “I believe I want you completely naked. You are a specimen of the male form.” Mobray reached out and lifted the wide brimmed hat from the other man's head with one hand. “Boots off, Christopher.” And he tried not to laugh when the other man eagerly kicked at his heels, trying to toe the boots off before bending and working the laces free.

Mobray lofted the hat behind them and angled himself to one side so that he could admire the flex and torque of the other man's muscles. Mannix was thin but built, the line of his torso and back lined with defined musculature. The pale skin carried darker scars and a beguiling scatter of freckles that dusted well toned shoulders. For as dark as the stubble at his jaw was, his chest was mostly bare, the sparse spread of hair barely noticeable in the flickering light. A thicker path of wiry black started at his belly button and trailed down between his legs. Still grinning, Mobray ran his finger along the line, stepping them closer as soon as wadded pants, long johns, socks, and boots were out of the way.

“You're starin'.” Chris thrust in anticipation but Mobray teased away from his erection, scratching lightly at his thighs instead. The younger man couldn't quite swallow the begging whimper that broke in his throat. 

“I am.” Mobray was still impeccably dressed except for his hat and his gloves. There was an obvious bulge in his pants but he hadn't so much as loosened his tie. “Whetting my appetite.” Instead of moving to cover himself, Chris sighed and spread himself wide against the wall letting the cold as his back counteract the heat from the other man's eyes. “Like steak to a starving man, you are.” That twist was back in his voice, a drop in tone and a shift in accent that he swallowed against. 

“You need a minute to get everythin' goin'?” Chris goaded, trying to feign indifference. “Jus' lemme know when you're ready, then.” 

“Cheeky.” Mobray instantly clamped one hand at the younger man's throat choking off his breath. “I've no objections to helping you hush, Christopher.” And for a measured moment he refused to loosen his grip, somehow using the bandy set of his smaller form and the clench of long, strong fingers on neck and spine to immobilize the Sheriff. “Enjoy it, really.” Smiling, he kissed against bluing lips before letting go and dropping both hands to his sides.

“Fuck!” But it was lust that turned Chris's voice, not anger. The breathlessness had him harder than he could ever remember being, his balls already drawn up tight as warmth spooled in the pit of his stomach. He lifted his own hands up to rub at his neck, still feeling the warmth from the other man's hands. “That was... That...”

“Articulation is wildly over-rated. Action, however, is generally my preferred method of conversation.” Chris watched Mobray's fingers, watched him unbuckle his belt and work the buttons at his fly. Shifting fabric and leather around, the shorter man drew his erection free, running slow touches along the length of it without removing any other clothing. The split between rucked trouser waist and untucked shirt hem and primly done tie and collar didn't seem to bother the older man at all. He was still all swagger and steady gaze. “I believe the time has come to discuss your mouth and my cock.” The turn of his wrist was a lazy match to his voice. “Your mouth on my cock, preferably.”

Chris swallowed hard, still rubbing at his neck as he dropped down to his knees. Mobray stepped closer before he could shift forward, saving him from crawling on the dirt packed and mostly frozen floor. He planted his palms on fabric covered thighs, fingers flexing into warmed cotton as he angled his head to one side and blew a warmed breath against the head of the other man's shaft. “Brilliant.” Mobray smirked at him and led a shallow thrust against his lips, eyes thinning into a squint when Chris sucked him deeper. Planting one hand into dark hair he fisted against the strands, tugging just enough to hurt as he took control of speed and depth, working himself harder and fuller with the other man's mouth. 

To his credit, the other man allowed Mobray the control, his own fingers scrabbling for grip as he focused on pulling some air through his nose on every back thrust and swallowing fully on every forward thrust. “You've teeth for a reason, Sheriff.” Finally Chris managed to draw a full lusted groan from the older man, letting his teeth scrap the length of his cock. “Good boy.” Mobray shifted his legs wider, shoving his pants lower as he rubbed a hand into his stomach. His head was down, hair tipped in his eyes as he chewed hard on his bottom lip. The play of light across broad shoulders had him swallowing thickly and laxing his fingers from dark hair to run the curve of one ear and the flex of Chris's jaw. “Breathe.” The timing of the word matched the timing of his hips and the kneeling man managed a half breath before his air was cut off, fingers digging against his throat as Mobray thrust forward again. Any pretense of gentleness fell away. The Englishman pushed forward until Chris's nose was mashed hard against the flat of his pelvis, throttling his hands tighter with each thrust.

He took the younger man right to the edge of unconsciousness, drawing blood from his own bottom lip as he bit against it, tracking the muddled lack of coherency in widened eyes. When dark eyelashes fluttered he flexed his thumbs bruisingly tight and then let go, angling his hips back at the same time. Chris looked up at him with dumb gratitude, still half gone from oxygen deprivation, his face younger and wider as he blinked back to sluggish wakefulness. Mobray wiped at the spit and precome that glistened on the younger man's lips, slipping the pad of his finger between swollen lips. “Well done, love.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I don't believe my ass is the one in play, Christopher.” Mobray's voice dipped with each motion the younger man made at his neck, the fabric of collar and tie choking off his air and graveling his tone. The grit suited him, made him sound like less of an English ponce. “Yours, on the other hand...”

“Mobray.” Mannix's voice was rough and thick, husked from his swollen throat as he settled back on his haunches and reached towards the other man's still hard length. 

“Ah, ah.” Grunting negation, Mobray caught wide wrists in the gloved fingers of one hand. “Impatient youth.” His voice guttered harsh, all throaty gravel instead of precise head voice. His other hand lifted and traced the reddening marks that lined the sheriff's neck. He knew they'd darken into a string of fingertip bruises, deeper along the prominent jut of the man's Adam's apple. Mobray grinned, his eyebrows lifting in genuine pleasure. 

Chris tilted his jaw into the touch, letting both hands fall palms up against his thighs as he held the other man's eyes. Mobray's smirk dimmed a bit under the scrutiny, the half cracked veneer of who he was and who this man thought he was pitching up a tempered pain in his chest. Because they were both dead men walking. One of them wasn't going to leave Minnie's breathing. Maybe neither of them would. Mannix was a wild card, he and the black major both, not accounted for in Jody's careful planning. Not accounted for in Mobray's own reckoning of acceptable losses. And camaraderie and fellowship aside, the younger outlaw would kill them all, gang and outsider alike, to save his sister.

“Oswaldo.” Mobray blinked, aware of the fact that not only had the other man repeated a dead man's proper name several times but that he was a half breath away from correcting him. A heartbeat away from offering up English Pete and the entire goddamn plan. “We gonna finish this or what?”

“Cheeky little bastard.” The Englishman spoke halfheartedly, accent caught somewhere in free fall between killers, half Mobray, half Hicox. Surprisingly, Mannix laughed, even teeth flashing in the windburned ruddy flush of his face.

“Seem to remember you knowin' how to shut me up.” He'd obviously recovered from oxygen deprivation because he was all wide grin and wicked fingers, drawing the shorter man back to the matter at hand. Literally. Mannix teased one hand along Mobray's erection while the other scraped nails and pressure up under his shirt, spreading fingers into his stomach. 

“Think it's time to make you scream, darling.” Mobray's look went feral, his eyes narrowing even as he drew his lips away from his teeth in a hungry smile. Life was nasty, brutal, and short. Waiting out a blizzard in a room full of men you planned on killing proved it. But life was also life and had to be lived. And if having a warm, callused hand stroking on his cock while the storm raged just beyond a thin wall wasn't living, his definition of living was not nearly entertaining enough.

In one quick move, Mobray buried his fingers in Chris's springy dark hair and jerked him to his feet as he stepped their bodies together and back into the wall. He swallowed the grunted breath Chris let out with a kiss, teeth and tongue fighting for speed and depth and control. Life demanded to be lived. Twisting, he slipped his coat off, careful to shrug the fabric free while hiding the gun he'd held back from Ruth in one of the folds. It was a near practiced move, almost like he'd spent time perfecting it, like he'd perfected the affected accent. Cold air and warm skin met his fingers when he dropped his warmed leather gloves beside the coat. “Don't you concur, sheriff?” 

“Fuck yeah.” Eager teeth nipped salted blood between them and Mobray felt the sting in his lip translate to a throb in his groin. “Wall's pretty goddamn cold though.”

“Consider it ambiance.”

“Ambi-what?” Mannix pulled back long enough to shove his bare leg farther between Mobray's, using his knee and his greater height as leverage.

“Ambiance.” The older man allowed the dominance, marginally. Shifting his shorter body to accommodate the move but purposefully squaring his hips and shoulders so that he was the steady one, the one in control. “Milieu, tenor, complexion.” 

“The fuck you talkin' about, Mobray?” Chris's lips were swollen when he pulled back from the kiss, his breath quick and loud.

“Fucking mood, you fucking hillbilly.” Mobray bit off each word distinctly, the profanity as crisp and defined as the rill of red that trailed from his lip into his beard. “Consider it a test in thermo regulation.”

“You talk too much.” But Mannix's cheeks had flushed out bright with lust, body reacting to the words favorably.

“Think you're man enough to stop me, young Sheriff of Red Rock?” Mobray rubbed himself into the other man offering overheated body warmth and fabric against the full on chill at his back. The chill at both their backs. The storm was growing worse, colder, cold enough to have Mobray shaking with more than desire even though he was still mostly dressed. To match their height, the shorter man rose up onto the balls of his feet, his eyes widening, eyebrows lifting. “John Ruth seems to doubt your manhood.”

“John Ruth is a crazy son of a bitch who probably expects an ambush every time he walks his pathetic ass to the outhouse.” The sheriff scoffed, rolling his eyes and licking against his lips in anticipation as the other man leaned in and nuzzled against the turn of his chin.

“An ambush, you say?” Mobray bit an instant bruise against the underside of Mannix's jaw. “Can't say I can think of a better place for one than on the top of a mountain. In a blizzard. Perhaps John Ruth isn't so crazy after all.” His tongue swept against the darkening mark before he closed his lips and teeth on it, sucking and nipping it even more brazenly bruised.

“Oh, no, he's crazy all right. I goddamn guarantee that.” Mannix hissed at the sting of the bite and settled his grip against Mobray's tie, fingers fumbling as he figured the knot and hitched it tighter. The white fabric of the older man's shirt collar bunched as it tightened, making it hard to swallow, hard to breathe. Interested eyes watched the motion closely, the corners crinkling slightly when Chris smiled at the sight. “Any man hitches himself to a woman wanted dead or alive and proceeds to haul her backstabbing, murdering ass all over Wyoming instead of planting a bullet in her head on sight is crazier 'n a shithouse rat.” He let the tie loosen, but wrapped the fabric securely around his palm. His other hand had found its way to the back of Mobray's head, fingers tugging and plaiting in the hair that tipped down over his collar. 

“You'd deny me my vocation?” The Englishman's hips pressed forward, his stance stilted but steady even though his trousers and belt lingered somewhere around his knees. He wrapped himself around the bigger man, hands scratching and rubbing into cold skin. Mannix sighed into the skin to skin contact and levered himself off the wall, thrusting forward as much for the warmth as to press their erections together.

“You bet your pale English ass I would.” Chris pinched his thumb and forefinger against the curve of the other man's ass as he spoke, smirking at the yipped grunt that guttered against the side of his head. Still grinning, he tugged at the tie, wrapping more of the fabric in his hand as he pulled upwards over the other man's shoulder.

“I don't believe my ass is the one in play, Christopher.” Mobray's voice dipped with each motion the younger man made at his neck, the fabric of collar and tie choking off his air and graveling his tone. The grit suited him, made him sound like less of an English ponce. “Yours, on the other hand...” Letting his words trail away, the smaller man turned their jaws together hard, the point of his chin digging just below Mannix's ear. “is very much in play. And I aim to collect.” 

Ignoring the fact that his tie was an effective noose, Mobray pushed the younger man away, gripping his shoulder to turn him into the wall. The fabric tightened painfully at his neck and tugged him at an awkward angle even as he settled himself tighter into Mannix's back. When the other man moved to release the slip of fabric he hissed negation and lifted one hand to clench their fingers together, the tie caught between. 

“Hang man likes to be hung, huh?” There was a smirk audible in the other man's voice. “Get off on dyin' a little?” Mannix laughed and tugged the tie playfully.

“We're all dying, Sheriff.” He used up a fair bit of breath for a nearly inaudible whisper, barely forcing the words louder than the wind that whipped against the side of the barn. “It's the unspoken rule of the human condition.” For the first time holding the voice he'd offered up as Mobray's, the stilted and pitched pronunciation, felt overly precise. The effort of holding character seemed almost as great as the effort to breathe despite the tug of fabric at his neck and the lust that coiled his muscles tight. “Now shut your mouth and hold that fucking tie.” The more he spoke, the less he could breathe, the choked amount of air he could gather on an inhale not making up for what he expended. His pulse thudded hard in his temples, the throb of it wavering his vision.

The feeling of breathlessness charged his blood, making every sensation stronger. Mobray leaned farther forward, free hand forcing Mannix down so that their height was better matched. Mobray pressed their joined hands into the rough wood of the wall, rolling his wrist so that he could lever his weight on the turn of his knuckles. His free hand rubbed along the other man's stubbled jaw, fingers working against his lips. Chris obligingly sucked on them, his tongue sweeping along slightly swollen knuckles. “Brilliant.” Mobray's voice was thick, strangled on an exhale. His guttered breathing was hot against the back of Mannix's skull, his nose pressed in dark hair as he licked wet lines at the nape of the younger man's neck. His dampened fingers ghosted touches down along cooling skin. 

Mannix pulled a breath to speak but sent it out on a hiss when Mobray pressed one finger carefully but quickly into his body. It was a rushed preparation but more than Chris expected, skilled motions that loosened his muscles and kept his length hard at the same time. His forehead pressed into the freezing boards of the wall as he arched himself into the touch. Every move Mobray made tugged the fabric of the tie tighter between them and he tried to slouch even farther into the other man's shorter height to ease the almost gagged breaths that puffed unevenly against the back of his neck. The positioning was awkward and the air was cold but heat started to spread out from his stomach, a flush reddening at his cheeks.

“You gonna fuck me before you pass out back there, Ozzie?” There was no answer but that ragged breathing was still keeping time to the movement of fingers inside him. At least two. Possibly three. “Jesus Christ!” He banged his forehead against the wall again when Mobray pushed forward, once, fully, before withdrawing his hand completely.

“Impatient.” But Mobray was beyond teasing, beyond languid motions and conversation. His entire body was shaking, the combined effects of the cold, lust, and lack of breath battering at his control. He nuzzled his cold lips into the side of Mannix's jaw, eyes fluttering closed as he lined their bodies together. Again, it was slower than Chris expected, an almost gentle press and stall that still burned and had him digging his teeth into his bottom lip. A pause and a final adjustment and Mobray pressed fully into him, thrusting Mannix forward into the wall. The younger man released his hold on the tie in order to brace himself against the rough wooden planks and the fabric at the Englishman's neck loosened slightly. Enough to pull back a half breath, the air burning down his throat and into his lungs. “Ready to yell my fine young sheriff?” His teeth gritted on Chris's earlobe, tongue swiping up against the shell of his ear.

“Mobray.” It was a beg, a plea. And the sound of it battered the older man's control even more ragged, leading his hips into uneven thrusts. Mobray palmed over Mannix's mouth, rubbing the creased and crumpled fabric of his tie against thinned lips until clenching teeth caught against the material. He dropped both hands to dig into Chris's hips, leading the other man to meet each of his thrusts.

“You really are magnificent, love.” Unseen, Mobray's face tightened with concentrated lust, his brows furrowing hard as he clenched his jaw. “So tight and young and bloody eager.” As he spoke he slid one hand lower, long fingers rubbing heated lines on quivering skin before curling on the other man's erection. Chris's length had softened somewhat but a few strokes had him fully hard. Fully hard and trembling on the edge of release, actually. His entire body shivered as Mobray worked him with quick precision, filling him at exactly the angle and depth that sent pulses of pure pleasure spiraling out towards his limbs. “Come on, darling.” Mobray kissed the words along the throbbing pulse point that ran Chris's neck, focusing on the taste of sweat and wood smoke, the feel of growing in stubble against his tongue. Focusing on anything that would forestall the pooling heat in his own groin. Because he wanted the other man over the edge and wrung out wasted before he let himself come. 

“Fuck.” Mannix curled his fingers harder into the wood he was leaned against, his nails scraping at the splintery surface as he growled through the dampened fabric still clenched in his teeth. A groan pitched off his chest, ringing into a half yell when Mobray shifted the tempo again. Short, hard thrusts aimed to nudge pleasure a touch closer to pain. It wasn't a yell, but Mobray's name keened out from between his lips on a repeating beg. 

Chest to back, Mobray curled them tighter together into the frost scrummed cold of the wall, rocking up onto his toes for height and leverage. His chin dug hard into the muscled slope of Chris's shoulder and the fingers of one hand curved possessively at his neck. They weren't digging in or cutting off his breathing, but they were stroking a heated promise of breathlessness from his lower jaw to the notched cut of his collarbone. Chris nudged his head sideways into the hold, his profile all tensed lines and bitten lips, his voice snapping higher, mixed sighs breaking the rote repetition of Mobray's name. The Englishman studied the angle of his jaw, the crinkled lines that spread out from the corners of his eyes. His paler skin was flushed with lust, a roughened run of windburn along his cheeks and the flat rise of his forehead, lips swollen and chapped. 

“A smidgen louder, mate.” Chris's eyes were dark and hazed, more pupil than color as he sought out the other man's look, muddled hazel finding gray and green ringed amber. Biting against his bottom lip, Mobray tensed his fingers and watched the way the sheriff's eyes widened slightly and then fluttered closed. The older man barely tightened his grip, lack of control keeping him cautious as he let his hips run out a ragged rhythm, still watching the play of pleasure and pain on Mannix's features. “Louder, I said!” And Mannix yelped, shamelessly yelling the older man's name before letting his head drop forward against his arm and arching his body even more agreeably back into Mobray's. “Bloody lovely.” 

Now Mobray did clamp down with his fingers, feeling the thrum of the other man's pulse against his skin, feeling it against his entire body. He curled his palm around Chris's erection, tightening the grip of both hands, at neck and cock, with each thrust of shivering hips. The other man was close, Mobray could feel it, taste it, as he nuzzled into sweat stroked hair. “You, dear boy, are exquisite.” He offered the words on a soft breath, caging his own panted fight for oxygen deep in his chest. His tongue ran the curve of the other man's ear before he sucked on the lobe. “Fall for me, Christoper.” Teeth scraped as he sucked and spoke against hot skin. “Fall apart for me.” Chris jolted beneath him, body shaking and swaying as he came with a muffled groan, teeth biting into the skin of his arm. 

“Goddamn!” Mannix groaned. He curled his shoulders forward, head settling hard on the bracing stretch of his arm as cold air finally filled his throat. He was so focused on breathing he barely noticed when both of Mobray's hands caught at his waist hard enough to bruise. The snap and press of the other man's hips became uncomfortable, driving him forward in an awkward angle into the wall. His head thumped against the boards as Mobray planted one hand in the middle of his back and shifted him lower, driving his legs apart and his shoulders down. “Jesus, Ozzie.” He tried to accommodate the ragged and nearly painful motions, teeth clenched hard on his lip as he reached back with one hand. His fingernails dug under the sweated fabric of the other man's shirt and left bright red scratches against the pale skin of Mobray's waist. 

“Bloody fucking hell!” Heat burned at the Englishman's hips, his entire body shivering uncontrollably as he chased his own release, thrusts ragged and uneven. His face flushed with effort and the constriction of his clothing had him growling on each panted breath. His muscles ached and the slick sweat that beaded at his hairline and dampened his clothes quickly turned clammy against the scald of his skin. He could feel Mannix sinking from pleasure to pain, could feel himself doing the same, his body aching and frustrated. 

With a guttered sigh Mobray pulled the other man up until they were back to chest again, one hand iron gripped at Mannix's stubbled jaw, angling the turn of his neck. He led their lips together in a hard kiss, all mashed lips and nipping teeth, the taste of strong coffee and stronger liquor mixing and mingling between them. Sturdy teeth closed on his bottom lip and the pain sent him winging over a razors edge into orgasm, a whined and hurt sound battering at copper tasting lips.

Everything seemed to stop, his breathing, his brain, his heart, all at once as pain burned pleasure into sated numbness. The both of them stumbled forward into the wall, Mobray's weight laxed into Chris's back even as his hips twitched in diminishing thrusts. “Brilliant, beautiful, boy.” He mumbled, his own voice dull and distant to his own ears. Mobray rubbed his jaw into the sweated skin of Mannix's back, offering comfort as he dropped flatfooted and his softening erection slipped from the other man's body. “Sorry, love.” There was very little of Mobray in his gruffed voice, his pitch a full measure lower in his muttering. 

His throat clenched on a swallow and he tried to draw the tattered remnants of the dead executioner's persona back over his own. It was harder than he expected and for the first time he wished he'd never started down this path in the first place. Never agreed to follow Jody up this godforsaken mountain. Never decided to follow the man beneath him to the barn. He had a feeling that, lifetime of bad choices aside, one of these decisions would be the one to end him. He could already taste the blood on his lips. 

“Ozzie?” The taller man was shivering underneath him, a rash of goosebumps fleshing out across his entire body. Mobray rubbed his fingertips into the nearly welted texture, but the sweat damp warmth of his smaller body was only making the other man shiver harder.

“A moment, if you please.” But there weren't many more moments and they both knew it. They'd have both been missed by now. Both of them equally suspect in John Ruth's paranoid mind. Maybe a liability in Jody's. Mobray tipped his head to one side, clearing his sweat stroked hair off his forehead and sighed. He couldn't resist licking a final swipe up between Chris's muscled shoulder blades and planting just one more kiss into the hair at the nape of his neck. It's all he could offer, a final touch of affection, maybe even a charm so that he, please god, didn't have to kill this man before all was said and done. Salt mixed with the coppered taste from his bitten lip as he straightened, leaning them apart. 

“We're apt to get a bullet just for bein' outta Ruth's sight this long. That man'd shoot his own mother, she came up on him unannounced.” Mannix turned himself right back into Mobray's chest, smirking a bit into the realization that the Englishman was still mostly fully dressed. Tie tight but trousers wadded at his knees, hair damp with sweat and childishly swirled and cowlicked. 

“Oh, no doubt.” Mobray allowed Mannix to finger comb at his hair, the younger man's long fingers carding at the lank strands and tugging at the knots. “He does appear a bit high strung.” Mannix just nodded agreement, his eyes bright and clear as he sorted the long hair back behind the older man's ears. “To that end, we should probably return.”

“Probably.” The younger man sighed and pushed away, fingers lingering for a second on the other man's jaw. “You figure you'll stay long in Red Rock?”

“The life of a public executioner is often unsure, Christopher.” Mobray tugged a handkerchief from his vest pocket and cleaned himself before tugging his trousers up and closing the flies. He left the belt ends dangling and offered the square of fabric to the other man. “But I wager the amount of time I spend in Red Rock would be proportional to the amount of time you spend apprehending vile criminals in need of hanging.”

“Got a feeling I'm gonna be a good sheriff.” Mannix grinned wide, the laugh lines that bracketed his nose and eyes crinkling as he accepted the handkerchief.

“Indeed.” One more kiss. He had to have one more, in case. Mobray leaned forward, hands purposely kept busy working his belt closed, and gentled a kiss between them. Lips and tongue and scraping, not biting teeth. “I'll return first. Follow along once you've righted yourself.” He glanced the length of the other man's still naked body, eyebrows lifted high before grabbing at his coat, remembering at the last minute the gun folded into the thick fabric.

“Hey, Ozzie?” 

“Yes?” Mobray turned, not wanting to look back, but like Lot's wife, unable to stop.

“You really think I'da fucked one of the horses?” Mannix was still grinning, his lips swollen and neck red with beard burn.

“Luckily, dear boy, we'll never know.” Mobray clapped his hat on his head and pulled his coat tighter before shoving open the outside door and stepping into the wind swirled snow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. I blame it on equal parts life and procrastination. Hope you enjoy.


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